Smart Ass...



There’s very little I don’t know.  Seriously.  Ask me how to ace a five-paragraph essay and I’m your gurl.  But then again, don’t ask me to reset your clock on your car stereo or you’ll be sorely disappointed.

The wife’s gonna be an Ag teacher. You know what that means?  She can get some healthy teenagers out here to build a fence for a cow and a barn for a cow and call it a FFA project.  Tonya 1, hormone raging teenager who just wants to get thru and go hop in the sack with their honey 0. 

For the most part, I’m pretty laid back until the occasional occasion when my mouth spouts out whatever vile thot is crossing thru my brain.  Like the dude yesterday driving his Jaguar convertible down Hefner parkway; he will rue the day he was driving drunk or pilled out or texting or whatever the hell he was doing to almost hit a guard rail three times before finally nailing it and hurling his piece of shit Jaguar fender at my Jeep.  Not only did I get to give him a mouthful of what I thot of him and his stupid Jaguar, I also got video of his dumb ass swerving back and forth for 2 miles which Jen and I promptly turned over to the police when they caught up with him fleeing the scene.  Rue the day, asshole.

I’m finally getting over whatever this crap is I’ve had for 3 damn months.  Upper respiratory infection from hell is what I’ve heard was going around.  All I know is I must have hacked up enuff nasty green, saliva-filled, lougies to fill up a swimming pool.  Gross. 

Cow is on hold for now.  Like I said, we need the fence and the barn plus more to get ready for the cow and spring has snuck up on us before we are ready for Ribeye.  So, the treehugger is slowly wading into this by buying a slaughter cow so I can taste how good the meat is and then feel like I MUST kill Ribeye to satisfy my raw hunger for fresh meat.  Seriously? Shake my damn head. 

Well winter’s almost over and that means top down, wind whipping thru my hair, doors off, Jeep days are ahead.  Wahoooooo!!!! For now, it’s 6 more weeks of winter according to Punxsutawney Phil so put on those Okie layers and prepare to either freeze or sweat your balls off.  Peace out, Homies.

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